


Glasgow Kiss

by levitatethis



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of enemies to lovers, Mentions of Racism and Islamaphobia, Multi, Muslim characters, Platonic Love, Romantic Soulmates, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: Yusuf has a scar -- they all do -- of the first fatal blow that triggered his immortality (although he didn't know that at the time).  It's so much a part of him he rarely dwells on it.Life is life -- he goes to work, plays football (soccer), hangs out with family and friends.Until one day he's introduced to someone he shouldn't know yet somehow already does.Life takes a complicated turn.That's not necessarily a bad thing.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 299





	Glasgow Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> 'Glasgow Kiss' is slang for "A sharp, sudden headbutt to the nose; usually resulting in a broken nose."
> 
> The idea behind this story is that immortality is something that is triggered (for whatever reason, for those select few) later in life. The last scar that marks their bodies forever is the first fatal blow (fatal being the operative word) that kick starts the changeover from mortal to immortal. Clear as mud?

**_“The worst stab wound is the one to the heart._ **  
**_Sure, most people survive it, but the heart is never quite the same._ **  
**_There’s always a scar, which I guess is meant to remind you that_ **  
**_for a little while someone made your heart beat faster._ **  
**_And that’s a scar you can live with, proudly._ **  
**_All the days of your life.”_ **  
**_~ Augustus Hill, Oz_ **

Centuries later and it remains an itch Yusuf can’t scratch.

A memory gnawing at the edges of his mind while the details remain just this side of hazy.

The Crusades – at least the way people refer to it now, preferring to mash all of it up into one grossly oversimplified concoction they can stomach in one gulp. He used to correct them, clarify the nuances that characterized the different waves of invasions and although people were interested there always came a point when their eyes glazed over.

He understands. Really, he does; the truth is not always appetizing. What a colossal nightmare it was; self-aggrandizing brutality justified for political gain, God’s alleged bestowment of righteousness, the gluttony and relentless spilling of blood in the most dehumanized ways. Depending on who he’s talking to they are either trying to argue that both sides were equally wrong (which, don’t even get him started on that deliberate mischaracterization) or are with him in recognizing the ugliness of what was inflicted and the consequences still felt today.

Yet what haunts him most is the endless loop of battle he found himself in – two soldiers standing in opposition taking each other down. Repeatedly. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Each time they thought the other slain another resurrection tilted the world another few degrees further off its axis.

It made no sense to Yusuf except that Allah was testing him or telling him his life was destined for something else. At some point there was a choice to be made besides waiting around for the other man to wake up. Afterall there was a possibility Allah had something in store for that man as well.

Enough was enough and he got moving.

Still, he never forgot the sword through his chest the very first time they fought.

The flash of steel green eyes as his heart split open.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

“You going to see that guy again?”

Yusuf scrunches his eyes and takes a laborious breath then looks at Booker with an embarrassed smile. “Probably not.”

Booker is all fondness while delicately cradling his beer between both hands. “He seemed like a decent fellow; smart, funny—”

Yusuf raises an eyebrow.

Booker chuckles. “Okay, okay, funny adjacent.” He takes a decent size sip of his drink. “I’d say just go for a hook up, no fuss, no muss, but that’s more my thing nowadays.”

He pauses then adds, “Look, I believe people are meant to find each other in different ways. For some it’s romantic, real soulmate kind of love, for others it’s sexual, an urgent physical connection, and for others it’s the deepest platonic bonds. I already had a life with my soulmate. I lost her and…you know it messed me up for a very long time. You guys are my second life and I’m grateful to have been able to experience both.”

He leans across the table. “You have all of us, Joe, always. But you were meant to be with someone. I feel it.”

Yusuf can only offer a tiny upturn of his lips at his friend’s sentiments. He feels Booker’s words in too many ways that are not always easy to process.

“Even if it is the elusive Mr. Green Eyes.”

Yusuf glares at Booker’s smirk.

“I should never have told you that. You are a very annoying man,” Yusuf complains but his accompanying laughter belies any true irritation.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

He has notebooks and journals filled with poetry, quotes, random musings, and sketches varying in detail as they capture the many parts of the many lives he has lived.

Lands he’s journeyed, people who moved about the places around him, objects that have filled in the spaces of rooms, the lines, curves and intricate designs of architecture that melded manmade structures against the natural beauty of the world all rendered in exquisite detail.

Strong, focused eyes. An angular nose. It’s all he can recall of the random shapes that make up one particular face. It’s never enough to pull something tangible together much to his frustration and deeply buried yearning.

He brings a hand to the centre of his chest.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

People coming into his life, much like the concept of time itself, create the illusion of operating in a straight line. The truth is it’s more of a jigsaw puzzle with pieces snapped together out of order and no bigger picture to use as a reference point. It ends up being sections that take shape out of context.

Still there’s delight in what they slowly reveal while fanning feelings of hope for what might be.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Booker is the fourth immortal he meets and the one who eventually becomes his best friend.

It was most definitely not love or friendship at first sight. If anything, it was repellant. The second time around went much better.

Yusuf met Andy (then Andromache) and Quynh first; a few centuries after he should have been dead had he been a mortal man. There were shared dreams and, on his own with more questions than his mind could safely contain, he set out to find them; turned out they were doing the same.

He remembers how wonderous they were to him, so full of love, trust and fight; and wisdom from centuries more of experience. They welcomed him with good humour and made him feel, for the first time in a long while, that he was part of something that made sense.

Even then there was still something missing, something – _someone_ \-- elusive that drew Yusuf’s gaze to the distant horizon more and more. Andy asked him about it on a handful of occasions (clearly it had been a point of discussion between her and Quynh) and Yusuf found himself struggling in a way he’d never had to before to find the right words. Yet she seemed to understand all the same and, while one day perusing through the journal he shared with her, she told him to trust in whatever it was that guided all of them.

Seeing the comfortable intimacy between Andy and Quynh -- the way their eyes fell to each other, how they elicited a laugh from the other or lingered a touch – it tugged at his heart something fierce, the beauty they made manifest and he felt for longingly.

He stayed with them for a time and even when moving in different directions felt natural there was always the promise and a plan to reconnect at a set date down the road. There was always an understanding that they were all bound and would honour those ties.

It was during one of those reunions when they eventually told him about Lykon, another like them but one who had unexpectedly died long before Yusuf had come into the world. The knowledge was a blow Yusuf’s already confused belief system and the unexpected pain it elicited has never truly dissipated.

According to Quynh and Andy the death of their friend necessitated a return to the former’s homeland – to mourn, recalibrate, re-centre themselves.

With time and space to process, while throwing himself into whatever kind of life he could move through with as little brain power expended as possible, Yusuf eventually settled on the captivating revelation that it must be a sign from Allah That their immortality was actuality finite meant everything, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, carried meaning. It was a reminder to never take anything for granted, and so once again (much later) there came a day when he chose to follow another dream.

Booker – still going by Sebastian at the time – was at the bottom of a very deep well of inconsolable grief by the time he and Yusuf crossed paths. He’d outlived his wife and sons (the latter on bitter terms at the end) and had been attempting to deal with his immortality all alone except for a never ending bottle of whatever hard drink he could get his hands on. Needless to say his resistance to Yusuf’s overtures of friendship were – well, _rude_ would be the polite way of saying it.

After awhile Yusuf decided there was only so much emotional bullshit he was willing to put up with, and only so much self-inflicted disgust he was willing to watch another man suffer through, before he had to pack it in for his own sanity.

It would take over a hundred years to reconnect with the man in Paris, at a grief support group of all places.

Up until that point Yusuf’s life had been a moving mosaic of frequent travels until he found a place that felt right, a place he could dig in shallow roots for awhile, make good friendly acquaintances he knew he couldn’t keep but would at least make the day-to-day worthwhile. More personal companionship was rare, a bit fleeting as he was often lost in the ideas and words for the kind of love he felt imbedded in his bones but with no one to share it, certainly not the way he desired.

Attending the support group came about a year after he’d settled in Paris (and Andy and Quynh promising to follow at a later date after they’d settled some legal affairs). By happenstance he had shared the still difficult pain of losing Lykon with a recently widowed neighbor who took it upon herself to knock on his flat’s door the following day with a handwritten note detailing a place and time.

Seeing Sebastian on the opposite side of the circle from him also trying to hide his confused surprise at the familiar face had Yusuf spinning. Realizing that the man was now in control of all his faculties had Yusuf wondering if maybe this go around would prove more fruitful.

At the end of the meeting, as people milled about to get snacks or chat, he watched Sebastian hovering by the coffee table before making the decision for them both.

“What’s an asshole like you doing in a place like this?”

Initially there was no reaction. Then Sebastian’s eyes crinkled as he let out an abrupt laugh. “I’ve been waiting for the Patron Saint of Lost Causes to show up.”

And that was that.

Nile is the most recent addition to his family, coming into all their lives in the last few years.

Yusuf was (and continues) working on book restorations at a local vintage bookstore for serious collectors. On the side he takes commissions from some lucrative clients for various types of art restoration. Occasionally one of his original drawings finds an eager buyer. It’s a simple quiet life and it serves him well. It’s how the kindhearted and sarcastic bomb dropping whiz Nile – one time U.S. Marine who “surprisingly” survived a severe wound in battle (and took it as her ticket out) and now a PhD student in Art History studying in Paris – found him when doing research for her thesis.

The moment he walked from the backroom to greet her for their appointment it was instant recognition for both. Within a day he had introduced her to Booker as well as Andy and Quynh who had been moving back and forth between homes in France and Italy. Their own acquired collection of artwork around their Parisian home – stunning yet never ostentatious, rather incredibly warm and welcoming -- was enough to put Nile in a state of bliss the first time she walked through their place.

They’re all a regular little patchwork family.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

_“Hey Joe! It’s Book. The match is back on for Saturday. Gerrard is still stuck in Ibiza (the fucking idiot) but it looks like Andy found someone to step in for those guys. I think he’s some professor that Nile knows. Hopefully he can kick a ball. Anyway, see you at the park, 10:00am!”_

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

How the hell Nile is his friend but plays for the opposition is a source of friendly contention between Yusuf and her during their weekly pickup games.

As she explains it, “Slim is my cousin, brah. Blood before water!”

“You wound me. Wait a hundred years and then see if you feel the same way.”

Enemies on the pitch they still travel to the park together.

“So you found a professor to try and save Anton’s team from utter annihilation?”

She playfully punches him in the arm. “All the bookbinders were accounted for.”

He chuckles. “Please tell me he’s good.”

“He’s Italian...”

“Great. So he’s a diving specialist.”

“You’re a jackass!” she laughs. “Give him a chance before you completely write him off. I doubt Andy would have rec’d him if she thought he wasn’t up to it.”

He raises a quizzical brow and Nile expounds, “I don’t know what more to tell you. I briefly crossed paths with him at a university mixer. He’s pretty quiet and reserved but the other profs seem to like him and so do the students. When I met Andy for lunch on Monday I mentioned we were down a player for this weekend so the game might get cancelled. We happened to bump into Nicky when we were leaving.”

She then veers off on a tangent. “He’s on sabbatical from Italy and is helping out with a couple of guest lectures on theology and The Crusades. My friend Rashida was at one of his talks and said he had some really interesting insight _and_ …” Nile makes suggestive eyes at him and bites her lower lip, “Apparently part of his study of discipline was the Islamic world before, during, and after that period. You two might actually hit it off. Anyway, to make a long story short,”

“Too late,” Yusuf kids.

“ _Any. Way._ Once he and Andy went down the religion rabbit hole I tapped out. Then on Tuesday I got a random message from her that if we were still in desperate need of a soccer player he could step in.”

As Yusuf mulls over her words, he reminds her, “Don’t let Booker hear you call it soccer. He’ll demand you forfeit on principle.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Nicky turns out to be a decent footballer. At the very least he holds his own with their motley crew which is a good sign (and clearly a relief to Anton who gives Nile an exaggerated display of thank you with his hands fifteen minutes into the first half).

Nicky may be quiet off the pitch but on it he’s far from a wallflower. He gets into a few tight races for the ball and a couple of shoving matches with Issa but it doesn’t escalate into anything problematic. He’s competitive – like the rest of them.

What’s strange to Yusuf is this growing feeling that he can constantly sense where Nicky is at all times even when he’s not in his sightline. There’s something oddly in tune with their movements and as the match progresses their encroachment into each other’s space intensifies. Whatever is happening has Yusuf a bit thrown.

The professor is good looking, no doubt, but they’ve barely said more than two words to one another and for Yusuf attraction is usually built on more than an initial physical spark. Whatever this is, it’s different.

At the end of stoppage time, after losing 2-1 (which Booker laments is a tragedy, likely because he had bet money on the hopes that Nicky would be a weak substitute), everyone is grabbing water and energy drinks while sharing plans for the rest of the weekend.

Yusuf downs half his water bottle then pulls off his sweat soaked shirt and rummages through his gym bag for a clean one.

“What’s going on?” Booker asks quietly.

“Nothing…I don’t know. I just felt like that guy was breathing down my neck most of the game.”

“In a good way or bad way?”

He isn’t sure how to respond since he’s still trying to figure out what he’s thinking. His friend picks up on that.

“I don’t think you’re misreading it. He kind of was.”

Yusuf gives Booker a look which he returns with a shoulder shrug.

“You’re a good player, Joe. Maybe he was trying to shut you down. Or maybe he’s interested in you.”

Maybe. Yusuf is thinking on that when Nile approaches with the new guy trailing behind.

“Hello losers!”

Yusuf rolls his eyes and turns, bare chested and holding a clean shirt. “Your sportsmanship is astounding,” he deadpans and she sticks out her tongue.

“I believe proper introductions are in order. Guys, this is Nicky. Nicky, this is Booker and Joe.”

Nicky now looks less like an athlete who was running with them toe-to-toe and more like an academic type who got well worked over. It’s surprisingly endearing. He politely steps forward and they all shake hands.

“You’re very good…Joe?” he says and Yusuf orders his brain not to short circuit at the sound of his strong Italian accent.

“Thanks. So are you. We can be a rowdy bunch. You did well,” Yusuf concurs and mindfully ignores the amused huff Booker snorts next to him. There’s an extended pause where they just stare at each other and he feels the need to add, “It’s Yusuf, by the way, but most people call me Joe.”

“Ah yes. Nicolo.” He gestures to himself, “But most people call me Nicky.”

Nicky’s eyes journey downward taking in his still shirtless body and for a second Yusuf gets a _vibe_ , a very serious, appreciative vibe that makes him stand up a bit straighter, not exactly preening just showing off a little bit –

Suddenly Nicky’s eyes stop and remain fixed on his chest and whatever Yusuf was sensing before is abruptly snuffed out.

Yusuf isn’t self conscious about the scar that ripples the skin above his heart. It’s been a part of him since his first rebirth into immortality, a declaration from the man who tried to kill him but couldn’t; the one forged with him in fire. Usually Yusuf passes it off as a story from his youth when he tried to break up a fight. But right now, in this moment, he’s suddenly hyper aware of it in an uneasy way which has him instinctively reaching his hand to cover it while gently caressing the raised skin beneath his fingertips.

Nicky’s stare remains dead focused and then he slides his attention back up to meet Yusuf’s defensive gaze. The professor’s demeanour has changed from amicable to something distant, almost hesitant. He scratches at his stomach and awkwardly makes an excuse that he’s late for something.

They watch him go.

“That was…odd,” Nile observes.

Booker leans toward Yusuf. “Nice green eyes,” he states in a low voice.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

He invades Yusuf’s thoughts everyday but to what extent he can’t say.

He is the first person who crosses Yusuf’s mind in the morning and the last person he thinks about before he falls asleep.

He is under Yusuf’s skin but whether it’s attraction or discontent – or six of one and half a dozen of the other -- remains to be seen.

It all makes him feel restless.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

The following Saturday that they play Nicky comes out swinging. He’s quick on his feet, agile in a way he wasn’t the week before. His ability to switch direction on a dime and aggressively push forward whether he’s chasing another player with the ball or trying to steal it would be enthralling if he weren’t on Yusuf’s back almost the entire game.

To be fair it’s not just Nicky changing the dynamic of the match. Yusuf, never one to back down, gives as good as he gets. It reaches the point where they’re practically grappling with each other at the start and end of each play; leaving themselves breathless and wired, the tension between them almost a physical force while the rest of the players are giving them the odd bewildered look.

The upside is he’s pushing Yusuf to elevate this game. The downside is he’s also pissing Yusuf off just enough to leave him annoyed.

Inevitably it all comes to a head at the end of the second half.

Yusuf receives a long forward pass from Booker and is heading for goal. He can sense Nile and Slim running his way to block him from the front and side, and he can feel Nicky clipping at his heels from behind. Yusuf refuses to get tripped up when he feels the press of a forearm against his back.

In a second he’s down, rolling across the grass, and then back up on his feet and staring down Nicky with fury in his eyes. He jabs his finger in Nicky’s face and states emphatically, “Dirty play, professor!”

In the near distance he can hear Booker yelling, “From behind! Jesus ref – it’s a fucking foul! Where’s the card?” (even though there’s never any cards in their pickup games, just people getting severe warnings and ultimately sat out on the sidelines like naughty schoolkids).

All Yusuf can see is Nicky in a tunnel vision focus of wild yet calculating eyes, spitting Italian obscenities under his breath while challenging him with a cocky smile. The tension from before is threatening to blow bright as the rest of the players run up to pull them away from each other. Nicky takes a sudden step forward and pushes his forehead against Yusuf’s; in turn Yusuf pushes back before momentarily relenting and then pushing forward again with a small forceful knock.

It’s not intended to inflict some Zinedine Zidane type damage and it doesn’t, not even close. What it does do is serve as a warning that Nicky better watch himself.

Nicky grins fiercely as their teammates play peacemaker. Nile physically pushes herself between them and uses both hands to press a barrier against Nicky’s chest, forcing him while yelling, “Back. Up.” She then spins around to check if Yusuf is going to launch forward or keep where he is. Concern for him emanates from every part of her.

People are shouting and pushing. Then some idiot spectator shouts out some anti-Arab and Islamaphobic crap (Yusuf wants to yell back _‘Hey asshole, if you’re going to be racist get it right. I’m North African not Arab you fucker!’_ ) and tempers explode. Yusuf is trying to maneuver himself out of Booker and Waseem’s strongarm hold on his upper body so he can face off against the unwelcome bigot on the sidelines when he sees Nicky turn around and lay loose a cutting diatribe on the guy for being a fascist pig.

Needless to say Yusuf is confused

After a few minutes of scarcely managed chaos (and Anton and Slim getting the small crowd of spectators to encourage Mr. White Nationalist to leave by any means necessary) everything manages to settle down to a respectable albeit fraught simmer.

Both Yusuf and Nicky are benched.

Neither say a word to each other after the match.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

It’s a very complicated few days.

Yusuf’s mind is attempting to make heads and tails of it all turning him into a human pinball machine ricocheting off different emotions as he overthinks _everything_.

It’s been many years since someone stepped to him the way Nicky did. What bothers him most is that he knows there was something else beneath the suddenly antagonistic exterior; something dark, wanting, familiar.

Yusuf is also a thoughtful man. He’s lived far too long to ignore what should be impossible connections. His brain drives forward full throttle dusting off information, collecting and collating it for further examination. The change in Nicky over the course of a week, his reaction to the scar, Italian (as regarded by modern standards) and a theologian who is a well regarded voice on The Crusades, his physicality on the field, the way he and Yusuf moved around each other like they knew each other, two beings moving in an all too familiar dance with each other…

He looks over at his bookshelf and the collection of notebooks and journals packed together on the far right.

Segments of a face.

 _There is no way_. And _yet_ , given everything, is there a better explanation? Maybe an easier one, yes, but when has the truth ever been completely easy?

The dreams he had of his battlefield enemy were few and very fragmented. They had met so soon after immortality breathed life him the reference point was of no use. Had the others – Andy, Quynh, Booker, Nile – never dreamed of him?

It’s all too crazy. Has he been out there on his own this whole time? He knows that logically he needs to cut out the middleman and speak with or confront Nicky directly (depending on how receptive the guy is to seeing him) so he grabs his keys and phone and figures he can text Nile on his way to the university to get directions to his class or temporary office.

He’s locking up the front door to his flat when he hears footsteps at the end of the hallway and casts a quick glance that way.

_Speak of the devil._

Nicky has lost that manic spark from the game. Instead he’s more muted in well worn sneakers, faded blue jeans, and a grey t-shirt under an unzipped black hoodie, raised over his head. Nicky returns his stare then slowly lowers his hood and sticks both hands in his pockets. There’s a weariness to him today.

_Good._

Yusuf slides his phone in his jacket pocket, fists his keys and near silently chants _Lā ʾIlāha ʾIllā Allah, Muḥammadun Rasūl Allah_ (the recitation he always says when he’s trying to ground himself or keep calm) under his breath. Out loud he reverts to the more simple and distant, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Neither makes a move. Yusuf clears this throat which appears all the encouragement Nicky needs to follow through with whatever brought him here. The shared stare never breaks as Nicky walks closer and stops right in front of him.

Yusuf’s breath stills as Nicky cautiously raises his right hand and places it on Yusuf’s chest, right above where the scar is hidden beneath his shirt. On instinct Yusuf almost jerks away and relents under the touch but catches himself either way.

“Long sword,” Nicky’s voice is quiet and reverent.

He then uses his left hand to slowly lift the bottom hem of his t-shirt revealing his stomach and the long since healed blade wound that cuts a line across his torso.

“Scimitar,” Yusuf confirms in disbelief, reaching forward but never touching, as the pieces click into place.

They’re frozen and it’s too much. Yusuf has a million and one questions but he’s been rendered momentarily mute by the sheer weight of what has just unfolded. He wants to pull Nicky closer and examine him from head to toe through sight and touch, he wants to push him away back into the box of unspoken things that he can slide into the welcoming shadow beneath his bed. He wants to get lost in the same storm green eyes that have lived in his shifting memories and he wants to trace his index finger down the sharp line of Nicky’s nose and kiss the spot just beneath his upturned chin. He wants to yell at him for daring to still be in this world after all this time and to just fuck off and leave him alone, and he wants to serenade him with poetry detailing the cerebral landscape this man has walked within him since they first met.

He wants to know everything about this man.

He _wants_.

Instead he steps back. Nicky’s eyes flutter at the sudden movement as if his own spell has been broken.

“I think it’s best if you met everyone,” Yusuf says.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

It’s almost unnerving how comfortably Nicky slots into their immortal family. It’s as if there’s always been a space for him and he’s just been running late.

They’re at Andy and Quynh’s, everyone sitting around the dining room table, Yusuf deliberately opposite Nicky to ensure space between them. The unarticulated flipside is it also ensures they can watch each other most easily. It’s definitely not deliberate on either of their parts (or at least that’s what Yusuf tells himself).

Nicky tries his best to explain how he came to show up now in their lives after so long – from the moment he awoke (again) on the battlefield and Yusuf was gone for good, to the horrors he witnessed carried out, and the eventual decision to not return home (initially believing his inability to die was a punishment from God).

He explains that he barely survived in the beginning and in fact died many times – sometimes due to circumstances of his own making, other times at the mercy of the environmental elements and people simply wishing to do him harm. For awhile he was hired protection for traveling trade caravans worried about robbers.

At this point Quynh interrupts, taking Andy’s hand in hers and speaks for the benefit of the rest of them. “We crossed paths around that time. Unfortunately none of us knew it. It was fleeting, like ships in the night. What I do remember is that although I’d seen light eyes before – blue eyes – I’d never seen ones with such green likes yours.”

Andy casts a sympathetic look at Yusuf.

“So when you said he should play with us, you already knew?” Yusuf asks, glancing at Nicky who is watching him.

Andy sighs. “I had my suspicions the day I met him with Nile and we spoke. I thought I was out of my mind until I came home and talked with Quynh. She’s the one who eventually pieced it together.”

“And you decided to keep that to yourselves because…”

“Not my finest moment,” Andy admits and Quynh squeezes her hand supportively. “I might be the oldest but I can still screw things up. I didn’t want to just spring it on you – _Hey Joe, the man you shared a killing fetish with over nine hundred years ago just turned up and he actually seems like a swell guy. We should all hang out._ I thought, stupidly in retrospect, that maybe if you met under normal circumstances and got along it would be easier to break the news.”

“We agreed to disagree on that front,” Quynh adds.

Yusuf tiredly scratches at his beard with both hands then rubs his eyes with the palms. It offers no relief. He knows Andy meant well, but still. When he looks around the table again Nicky is watching him closely.

Booker, creased brow settled in place, raises his hand. “What about the dreams? We know why you guys stopped seeing him.” With a sweeping motion he points to Yusuf, Andy, and Quynh. “And we can guess why I—”

He looks to Nicky and explains, “I was in a bad headspace for a very long time. Either I blocked out the dreams or just don’t remember them. In all likelihood I might have also crossed paths with you at some point in Italy.”

To the rest of the group he says, “But shouldn’t Nile have dreamt about him?”

At this point Nile makes a slightly embarrassed face. “I think I did dream about him starting about a week before we first met. I honestly thought it was just because everyone at the university was talking non-stop about this visiting professor. Growing up I always had really vivid dreams and these weren’t so different. I didn’t put it together that it wasn’t just my imagination in overdrive.”

Booker shakes his head at her but there’s warmth to his movements.

“I would also like to take this moment to remind all of you that I’m in the middle of writing my thesis and trying not to lose what’s left of my mind. Cut me some slack,” she says with a smile.

“So we all crossed paths with Nicky at some point in our lives and never knew it,” Yusuf surmises not feeling as ready to contribute to the banter as the others.

Andy looks contrite, Nile mutters a quiet, “Wow”, Booker nods his head, Quynh says, “So it would seem.”

Nicky proves gallant as he surveys the people around the table. He half shrugs. “Better late than never?”

The shared tittering of laughter rumbles through all of them.

Except Yusuf.

His mind is elsewhere.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Five days later and Yusuf still hasn’t spoken with Nicky. His mind is still too wrapped in a knot to process his feelings intelligently, as if logic must supersede emotion at a time like this.

Booker comes by on day two and sits with him in companionable silence. He always knows when Yusuf just needs time to let his thoughts run up against each other in his brain, debate their points and either drop by the wayside or continue to the next round.

Before Booker leaves, however, he levels with him. “Maybe you don’t want to hear this, but you know it’s true. _This_ is amazing, Joe. I’d hate to see you get in the way of your own heart. Just, please think twice before outright rejecting what this could mean for you.”

On day three Nile texts him to see how he’s doing. She offers to punch Nicky in the face _‘or is this a kiss with a fist kind of deal?’_ which actually makes Yusuf laugh. Her follow up is pure sincerity.

_Seriously, if you need to talk. Or not talk. I’m here for you no matter what._  
_BTW he’s been asking about you. I’m not sure what you want me to say._

Quynh shows up on the fourth day. They take two chairs out onto his tiny balcony and between sips of orange pekoe tea watch the people milling on the streets below.

“Andy feels terrible,” she finally says. “We both do.”

Yusuf sighs. “Neither of you have to apologize. I’m not angry. It’s just…a lot.”

“I know. If it means anything, she really did want to vet him before throwing him into your life; into all our lives. If he were a problem she still would have told you all about him but would have prefaced it with a warning.”

She turns to him. “He’s been by our place each day this week. He knows he handled things badly.”

Yusuf rubs at his face exhaustedly. “Nothing’s stopping him from telling me that himself.”

“You intimidate him.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right, the scary brown Muslim guy might be quick to anger and turn violent—"

“No!” She says it like a statement, her eyes unblinking. “I promise you if that was the case I’d be the first one to tell him to pack his bags and get the hell out of all our lives. What I’m saying is I get the impression that out of all of us, you’re the one whose opinion matters most to him and he’s not sure how to dig himself out of this hole with you.”

The thought percolates between them.

Quynh softly adds, “We like him. Obviously you don’t have to and I have your back no matter what you decide. But, for what it’s worth (which may not be much) I think he’s actually a good guy if you are inclined to give him a chance.”

She puts her tea down and shuffles her chair a few inches closer so she can lovingly cup his face. “And you, my dear friend, you deserve a good guy.”

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

Yusuf doesn’t jump in head first. It takes time.

They begin with group outings.

Usually these are organized by Andy -- who pulls him aside the first night and tells him most fervently that she loves him and he just has to give her a big bear hug to let her know he feels the same way – though Quynh and Nile come up with some good suggestions. Booker is happy to go where he’s told, it’s the company that matters to him most.

It’s often dinners and lunches and some weekend drinks. Football games are back on the docket for Nicky after he dutifully apologizes for his behaviour and the players (after taking their unspoken cue from Yusuf’s head nod that all is good) accept graciously. It’s not a return to the playing form of before, but it does what it needs to. Now, however there’s an odd restraint to their movements and an unspoken insistence of a wide berth between them when they’re on the pitch.

During this time Yusuf sees how naturally Nicky connects with his family. He’s thoughtful while Andy and Quynh regale him with their stories (occasionally interjecting with wry commentary), Booker finds a kindred spirit in making ridiculous bets (on almost anything, it’s crazy how in tune they are with the off-the-wall obsessions), and for Nile he proves to be a contemplative and supportive shoulder to lean on when she gets bogged down in her thesis work, offering helpful suggestions that ultimately remind her she’s on the right track (yet could try an alternative angle if she so desires) and doing incredible work when she’s not second guessing herself.

Initially Yusuf is content to remain in the observer role but the pull he feels towards Nicky keeps growing. It doesn’t hurt or help that it’s not one sided. At some point, no matter who Nicky is talking to, he ends up seeking out Yusuf (whose attention is already trained on him) either to rest his gaze upon and offer up a tiny nod or to approach with some small talk barely disguising something more meaningful but that usually ends up with Yusuf being the one rambling while Nicky listens attentively.

Yusuf feels it all the same. Nicky is getting closer. And he likes it.

A road trip to Mont St. Michel (a UNESCO site that “looks like something out of a fairytale” exclaims Nile who has only seen it in pictures so she’s stoked beyond compare to explore the place for real) finds four of them in a small car for the day. The morning begins with Yusuf in the driver’s seat but his constant distraction by Nicky in the backseat staring back at him through the reflection in the rearview mirror leads to Booker declaring a change in the seating arrangements before they’re halfway to their destination. Yusuf ends up in the passenger seat under the weight of Nicky’s attention from the back, willing himself not to turn around.

The rest of the day they spend walking around the site, taking pictures (including a decent amount of deliberately goofy ones per Nile’s insistence) and dipping a toe into the fascinating history of the place. Joking over snacks follows a similar pattern of just awkward enough comfortability and a welcome thrum of ease that somehow ends up with everyone having a good time. It’s a peaceful drive home.

One evening the football crew organizes a karaoke night. After a bit of arm twisting Nicky promises to sing David Bowie and Nile insists he “go big or go home” before she’s ambushing him with expertly applied eyeliner and then mussing up his hair for good measure. When she’s done and turning him around for everyone to admire her handiwork, Anton (already happily buzzed) says they’re going to have to start calling him Casanova (his wife Margot jokes he should entertain them with love poems).

In the moody lights of the club Yusuf can make out the faint blush that rises on Nicky’s cheeks as the others concur with much amusement; and he can see the way already striking eyes, now framed and accentuated, dart his way. Whatever it is he sees in Yusuf’s expression must make him feel bold. At the last minute it’s not Bowie he turns to.

As Hozier’s ‘Like Real People Do’ softly rolls off Nicky’s tongue Yusuf watches mesmerized, completely in the thrall of his voice, those lyrics that strike ( _too_ ) close, ( _too_ ) near to a no longer dormant truth. Although most of their friends are appreciating his singing, it’s clear only to those really paying attention, who know them best, that the song is anything but random and the sentiments are very much directed.

“Oh, Joe,” Nile says in a hushed voiced filled with understanding.

When Nicky is finished there’s barely time to unpack what he’s placed before them, not with the exuberant crowd demanding an encore. For a moment he looks like a deer in headlights until Nile pulls a saving grace and joins him on stage. Flipping the script from the dizzying aura of desire into something fun, loud, and far less personal, the two of them rock out to Carly Rae Jepsen’s ‘Too Much’. While everyone is hooting, hollering, and singing along at the top of their lungs the grin on Yusuf’s face grows so big it hurts.

Towards the end of their raucous performance Booker casually tips his head close to Yusuf and says, “Now that you’ve eyefucked each other you may want to consider courting the man like the gentleman you are. Make your intentions crystal clear and at least a little respectable.”

So he does.

The group still gets together at least once or twice a week but outings primarily become just the two of them – they regularly make plans for lunch time strolls, coffee chats in the park, post dinner meanderings throughout the city.

He accompanies Nicky when he decides to buy new furniture for his rental, standing with his arms crossed and an affectionate gaze while Nicky thoughtfully sits in chairs, considers ottomans, analyzes coffee tables. It turns out his main goal, apparently, is to find a new mattress.

Laying down on his fifth one he looks over to Yusuf and explains, “Sleep is very important to me. This is not to be taken lightly.”

Yusuf murmurs in agreement.

“What do you think?” Nicky nods to the mattress he’s on.

After a moment’s hesitation Yusuf flips forward his backwards baseball cap and takes it off while he lays down next to him. Neither of them says anything and when Yusuf glances over he sees Nicky, still on his back, face towards the ceiling, his eyes closed and a peaceful expression.

It’s nice. Better than nice. It’s exhilarating.

“If I knew we were going to end up in bed together I would have bought you lunch first.”

The surprised laugh that comes from Nicky is loud and delightful. Yusuf thinks he would spend a thousand and one more lifetimes to make this man this happy.

Nicky rolls onto his side, arms curled below him, and smiles at Yusuf. “I can be kind and give you another chance.”

They stare at each other until Yusuf breaks the comfortable tension. “So Goldilocks, how does it feel?”

Nicky’s cheeks pinken. “I think it’s just right.”

There are a couple of days when Nicky visits him at the bookstore and walks around in awe at the amassed collection marveling at Yusuf’s level of skill as he explains and demonstrates the restoration process, from bookbinding to the artwork. He’s a captivated audience, asking questions and listening closely to Yusuf’s answers.

All the while no topic is off the table. They talk about their families and subsequent separate travels post-fighting, the lives they lived in different places and eventually were forced to leave behind.

They talk about their relentless battle with each other in the middle of a frayed mess of blood and bone. Chaos and confusion thick in the air and the two of them as Sisyphus reliving the same day over and over. A carnage of thoughts laboured their movements as they tried to take the other down – _finally, please make it final_ – but didn’t stop them from waiting to see if the other would rise again. Until one last time.

With Yusuf, Nicky shares much deeper feelings about his struggle with the indoctrination steeped in horrifying racism that had sent him fighting with such verve in the first place and the reality that struck him down and ultimately forced him to question what he had been told was the only truth for so long. It’s what led him to do a deep dive into Islam, to know and understand the religion and Muslims themselves; not as something “other” or an enemy to be feared, hated, destroyed, but as a diverse people also seeking, with thoughts and feelings.

As he puts it, “I had to be deprogrammed so I could see what was in front of me for the first time.”

It’s one of their most difficult conversations.

It’s during these confessionals that Nicky seems intent on revealing who he is at his core as someone far removed from the man Yusuf first met. In turn Yusuf feels an incredible freedom to finally open more of himself up, to hear Nicky’s words, take them to heart as they are intended, and then share his own incredibly complicated journey from the past to the present.

He speaks of the poetry born of tumultuous times and discovered friends, of outgrowing lives he had loved and others he had shouldered with effort, of longings that he had no words for except to say they coursed through his body as the twins hope and sorrow. He reveals how the potential loss of so many of his early sketches and words – poems, notations, musings, reflections – to the ravages of time that yellowed and faded the paper between his fingertips but did not age him spurred in him the need to protect what he could. And so, a handful of years ago, pulling on the oldest remembrances, the ones that couldn’t survive those early centuries of his newfound life, he delicately rewrote and then bound _his story_ as a memoir for his own eyes and that of his found immortal family.

“The Life and Times of Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Volume I.” Nicky tilts his head and looks at him with assessing eyes.

Yusuf shrugs. “To the extent that doodles and non-linear, overly flowery language can be called such.” He doesn’t mean it to sound dismissive, he’s proud of it all, rather he’s trying to rebalance how much of himself he has put in trust of this man. He quickly course corrects and says with more seriousness, “Not that you would – but, I mean -- if you were at all interested I could show it to you.”

Nicky gives him a half smile that still manages to light up his entire face. “It would be my honour.”

It’s hard to believe such intimacy can come so easily but Yusuf supposes that’s what happens when one is with the right person. Your accomplishments and faults can be laid bare, your intentions properly weighted, and you can still be wanted through to your very core.

The more time he spends with Nicky the more he can’t help but think of the lost centuries they could have shared together; the life they may have had. Whenever he starts going “If only…” or “Maybe…” Nicky gently grips his wrist and says, “Don’t look behind. Look forward with me” (yet Yusuf also sees the wistfulness in the other man’s eyes for what was not granted to them).

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

One night after a family dinner at Andy’s favourite restaurant, Yusuf asks Nicky back to his place for a nightcap; his own contentment matched in the way Nicky’s face brightens at the invitation. After group goodbyes he catches Nile “awwwing” (complete with handmade heart), Booker giving him a supportive nod, and a (not at all) disgruntled Andy fishing money out of her wallet as Quynh makes a ‘pay up’ gesture.

They keep their walk unrushed, not out of nervous anticipation for where the night may lead but to savour every single ounce of it.

Back at his flat, Yusuf admits he doesn’t actually keep alcohol in his home but could offer ginger ale or cranberry juice. Nicky insists water is fine.

“I’d very much like to be sober for this.”

This time their shared smile is shy and hopeful.

A minute later, water in hand, Nicky explores the artwork that colours Yusuf’s walls, stares at the guitar case sitting on the sofa with the faint hint of a smile, then looks over the books collected over the years that riddle his shelves and provide yet another peek at his inner workings. With curiousity etched in his furrowed brow he draws a finger along their rainbow spines pausing at the intricately designed wooden box that encases a leather bound Quran before continuing on.

Yusuf watches him piecing together the collective meaning of all these additional tidbits of information and he feels that maybe this is the best time to really put their cards on the table, to try and start from something that is unfettered in cumbersome baggage.

“Why were you so combative with me at the football match that day?”

It’s a topic they’ve somehow (or quite deliberately) avoided all this time but it’s always been there, poking at the corners and keeping their footing unsteady. Nicky bristles at it and Yusuf worries he’s accidentally derailed a perfectly lovely evening.

But when Nicky turns his expression is one of embarrassment and apology. “There are no words to express my regret for how I treated you. I…I had been shocked to meet you the previous week. I had heard about you from Andy but she had given nothing personal about you away. I found I enjoyed playing with everyone – with _you_. It had felt so…”

“Familiar,” Yusuf says.

Nicky nods and puts his water down. “Yes. Familiar. In a way that made me happy and nervous. When I saw your—” and he indicates the spot on his chest, “I immediately thought of _him_ – you. I couldn’t believe the man who had lived in my mind for so many centuries was possibly standing in front me, living this life in this place. I had wondered about you for so long, if you’d still lived; if you’d figured out what was happening to us or if you’d managed to perish along the way. I wanted to talk to you about all of it but I was also angry that you had left me to deal with this on my own even though I knew there was no reason for you to stay. You owed me nothing.”

He takes a deep breath and continues, “And yet the person Andy spoke about was not the one I remembered all that time ago. I wanted to prove to myself that you were still him, the man who had killed me many times and then walked away. I remembered how well matched we’d been in battle and wondered if I could find that again on the field. I had to see it for myself – to reconcile these versions of you. And I did see it. I saw your fight, the passion that burns within, your refusal to give me an inch no matter what I threw at you.”

Nicky pauses, the atmosphere is heavy between them. “You were him. And you were also so much more. You’ve become so much more. The man you are…please never mistake my silence with you as having nothing to say. With you I feel too many words and yet never seem to have enough. I am aware I almost ruined any chance for us to be friends or… Afterward I felt such shame. I am so sorry for the hurt I caused.”

His honesty strikes at Yusuf causing his heart to pound and finally crack open that last protected part of himself. He knows Nicky isn’t just talking about the football game. He means everything.

Yusuf realizes that while he had people like himself who were willing to help him shoulder his burden over the centuries, Nicky had no one to share his confused wonderings with. Instead he had to decipher the indecipherable on his own and mark a new path with no guide. All the while old thoughts stewed over and over within his own mind only to have the biggest part of the puzzle suddenly challenged so completely.

It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.

What a shock all of this must be.

And yet. To have walked through this world all alone for so long, to think himself the only one, and it didn’t turn him bitter or cynical, it didn’t make him cruel or apathetic. He made a choice to walk a different path. A better one. He too is more than a nameless man wielding a sword. _Mashallah_.

Yusuf walks over to his record player situated on the side table near the window where the drawn curtains are letting the deep ink of night seep into the living room. He picks up a record he’s been listening to quite a bit recently and sets it in motion on the turntable. The opening scratchiness soon gives way to Frank Ocean singing ‘Moon River’.

He takes a moment to look out the window considering…considering everything. When he finally turns back Nicky is regarding him questioningly. He returns to the bookshelf and selects a journal which he presents to Nicky, allowing the other man to take it and slowly, thoughtfully, explore the pages. A smile blossoms on Nicky’s lips as he reveals drawing after drawing, reveling in Yusuf’s deft creations.

He stops suddenly when he gets to a detailed sketch of eyes – _his eyes_ – and the vague attempts to illustrate the whole of the man. It’s now that Yusuf can see what he got right and what he missed; it’s staggering how much was not lost in translation from a muddled memory to a blank page, all things considered. Nicky tenderly traces the penciled delineations with the tips of his fingers. When he turns the page, he sees another version of himself, and then another and another.

He looks at Yusuf in amazement.

“The soldier I left behind on that battlefield was a nameless Crusader. But you, Nicolo, have been with me for as long as I can remember. I have carried you with me since the beginning; a voice I could not hear yet was always next to me in my travels, pulling me up through my trials and sharing comfort in my solitude. The siren singing horizon I ached to reach for even as I came up short. You have been my morning whisper and my nighttime sigh; the promised hope of one day.”

Nicky puts the notebook down and moves closer into his space with softly surging confidence.

No more words are spoken.

Yusuf remains still under such an overwhelmingly attentive watch. Heat rushes through his body as Nicky takes stock of him, committing every angle and curve to memory; drifting a covetous gaze across the curve of his neck and expanse of his shoulders, down to his chest.

In a near recall to their hallway meeting earlier in the week, Nicky touches his right hand to Yusuf’s chest, tenderly pressing the shirt against his solid body while his heart jackrabbits below. Raising his other hand Nicky takes his time undoing the top few buttons of the shirt until he can separate the fabric to expose a good top section of Yusuf’s chest, his scar no longer hidden. He glances up and meets Yusuf’s stare, the two of them temporarily frozen on the precipice of what was and what will be.

“Is this okay?” His question is hopeful yet tentative.

Yusuf’s nod accompanies a soft and determined, “Yes.”

Nicky closes his eyes and leans forward, reverently pressing a gently placed kiss where his fingers once marked the spot.

Yusuf shuts his eyes and inhales, deep and slow, trying to steady himself at the touch of soft lips to his worn skin. Wordlessly he braces Nicky’s waist in his hands and then delicately begins to lift the bottom of his shirt to reveal the scar he put there when he swung with all this might many lifetimes ago. Caringly this time, he guides his fingertips across the raised seam of skin.

Nicky releases a sigh against him.

The theoretical idea of two worlds colliding finally becomes an explosive reality.

“Yusu—”

He cuts Nicky’s desperate declaration with a kiss. It begins quick and light, a trepidatious question with an answer it knows is there but needs clear confirmation. Quickly Nicky pulls him further into something deeper and more fluid, with no beginning or end.

He feels Nicky’s hands move to his beard, exploring the coiled hair before moving further upward and teasingly tugging at the curls to pull them closer together, eliminating any accidental space clinging between them. Yusuf groans at the change in pace and pressure, the warm taste of Nicky on his tongue; all the while pressing his hands under Nicky’s shirt, around to his back, delighting in the rush of heat surging across his body. Nicky is practically folded into him as Yusuf bends them together in an urgent need to be closer.

He chases after Nicky’s lips when he suddenly pulls back just enough to grant Yusuf a knowing and very sated smile. Yusuf blinks what must surely be hooded eyes, overwhelmed at the sensory overload as he takes in Nicky in every single way his senses will allow. He gives a slight shake of his head to clear his mind.

“It took awhile but I think we finally managed to get it right,” Nicky whispers against his lips.

Yusuf wraps him tight in his arms and buries his face against the side of Nicky’s neck; breathing deeply he drops a tender kiss to the rhythmic pulse point below and seals his oath with a smile.

******* ***** ***** ***** *******

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with the sun bright in the sky and the barest hint of a cool breeze to keep it comfortable.

Post-match drinks are underway at a local pub and both teams (along with friends and family) are packed in, joking and chatting away.

Yusuf and Nicolo sit next to each other and bask in the jovial atmosphere. Still team rivals week-to-week, they take pleasure in goading each other (now with a far more friendly edge) and tossing sharp quips that expose their similar competitive streak on the field.

Afterwards, while everyone shakes hands and slowly makes their way off the pitch, their flirtations are a flurry of bright smiles and keen eyes as they step into each other’s space and drop whispered morsels meant for only their ears. It’s all much to the amusement of both their teams who get a kick out of knowing they’re now together (such a surprising contrast to their earlier blow up and the fact that none of their friends have ever seen Yusuf this taken with someone; which in itself seems to elevate an already well liked Nicky in their eyes).

“No cavorting with the enemy,” Waseem laughs at them from the middle of the group packed together near one side of the pub. “Not until the vanquished pay up for the winners drinks!”

The resulting whoops and cheers from their friends have Yusuf trying to stifle a laugh and Nicolo jokingly rolling his eyes.

Now that they’re a _we-us-they_ , Yusuf has discovered a sixth sense when they’re in mixed company. He can tell whenever someone is about to ask the question they’ve been ruminating on for some time. He can see it in the way people who don’t know him and Nicolo pick up on their unspoken language; how they notice Nicolo’s always slightly turned towards him even if they’re not touching or even next to each other, or the way Yusuf lightly drags his fingers across Nicolo’s shoulder when he calls out to Booker who is standing by the bar recalling some crazy story before settling back down; the way they can speak to each other with just their eyes, how in sync their movements are even in the most inconsequential of ways.

Eventually it becomes too much and someone just has to breach the invisible wall. “So tell me, when did you two fall in love?”

The question is always the same. So is the answer.

They turn to each other.

Yusuf gives a half-smile. “It was a shot right to the heart.”

“He left me breathless.” Nicolo raises an eyebrow.

“He swept me off my feet,” Yusuf adds with a wink.

Nicolo waits a beat and smiles in return. “He did my head in.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some random musings:  
> 1\. The quote at the beginning is from the HBO series 'Oz' that ran from 1997-2003 as one of their earliest prestige shows. Although later seasons went off the rails a bit, the early seasons were amazing. It was set in a prison called Oswald Penitentiary and was one of the first shows to feature positive representation of a Black Muslim man amongst its leads as well as one of the most complicated and powerful LGBTQA2+ relationships (Beecher/Keller). 
> 
> If you were to watch the series now you'd be floored by how many actors you recognize from other projects. 
> 
> 2\. I've seen a few fics where Yusuf roots for Italy over France (to annoy Booker and I guess out of loyalty to Nicolo) and I wanted to offer a counter idea. Zinedine Zidane was one of the most celebrated and prolific football players. Born in France he is Muslim and of North African descent (Algeria). France itself has fielded a national team that is incredibly mixed -- for a country where politics and racism have been grossly intertwined the French team (made up of a diverse, inclusive roster) is then celebrated by that same country. It's a real mindtrip. 
> 
> At times France has been regarded as the closest thing (so far) to an African team to make the World Cup finals. 
> 
> I feel like this would appeal to Yusuf. Again, this is based on much of my own experience.
> 
> 3\. If you haven't listened to 'Moon River' (Frank Ocean's cover), 'Like Real People Do' (Hozier), or 'Too Much' (Carly Rae Jepsen) I recommend you fix that right now.
> 
> 4\. This was supposed to be a short, touchstone moments, kind of story. Clearly my brain had other ideas.


End file.
